TO THE LADY DURSLEY On the same Subject.
Here reading how fond Adam was betray'd;
And how by Sin Eve's blasted Charms decay'd;
Our common Loss unjustly You complain;
So small that Part of it, which You sustain.
You still, fair Mother, in your Offspring trace
The Stock of Beauty destin'd for the Race:
Kind Nature, forming Them, the Pattern took
From Heav'n's first Work, and Eve's Original Look.
You, happy Saint, the Serpent's Pow'r controul:
Scarce any actual Guilt defiles your Soul:
And Hell does o'er that Mind vain Triumph boast,
Which gains a Heav'n, for Earthly Eden lost.
With Virtue strong as Your's had Eve been arm'd,
In vain the Fruit had blush'd, or Serpent charm'd:
Nor had our Bliss by Penitence been bought:
Nor had frail Adam fall'n, nor Milton wrote.